They Did What They Could
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Written for the prompt: Isobel finds an abandoned baby in back of her house and calls Doctor Clarkson to see if it's okay. What happens next?
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the prompt (that I just couldn't leave alone)****Isobel finds an abandoned baby in back of her house and calls Doctor Clarkson to see if it's okay. What happens next?**

**This is probably late/post-series 4, and probably a oneshot.**

For what felt like the first time in year- what probably _was_ the first time in years- Isobel Crawley was running to the hospital; well, at any rate, moving as fast as her load would allow her to. She had absolutely no wish to attract attention to herself in her present... state, and not only for her own sake, but equally she wanted to be at the hospital as fast as she possibly could. Taking the shortcut through the graveyard, she glanced down at the grey bundle she held snuggly against her chest. The child was still asleep, thank God. That would certainly make things easier.

"I need to see Dr. Clarkson," she announced briskly as she entered the hospital, "Now. Tell me he hasn't gone on his rounds yet."

"No, he hasn't. He might be getting ready to leave though."

"Thank you," she replied, and, without waiting to be asked, made her way swiftly along the corridor to Richard's office.

He turned as she opened the door, a look on his face as if he was about to object to the interruption. It vanished as he saw her expression, and confusion filled his face as he caught sight of the bundle in her arms.

"What in heaven's name has happened?" he asked her, putting down the piece of paper he had been reading.

"Something terrible," she replied, gently holding out the baby in her arms for him to see.

"Good God," he murmured.

"Left on my doorstep," she told him, "I brought her as soon as I'd warmed her up enough to risk the cold outdoors."

"A little girl?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Newborn?"

"Yes," she told him again, "She's tiny under all of these blankets."

"Did you wrap her up?" he asked her, "Or was she like this when you found her?"

"She was just in this grey one when I found her," she replied, "The rest are mine. They were Matthew's when he was a baby."

She felt her eyes close heavily. There was a pause. For a moment she thought he was going to try to take the baby away from her but thought better of it.

"That was careless," he remarked after a moment, "On such a cold night." 

"Is abandoning a child not careless enough in the first place?" she asked sharply, a lump seeming to rise in her throat, "How can _anyone_ abandon a child?"

Richard looked downwards for a moment.

"I think you're very aware of the several reasons why someone might abandon a child," he told her gently, and then, more quietly still, "I know they're difficult for you to accept at the moment."

She could not think of anything to say, and felt tears start to well in her eyes, very much against her will.

"Here," he told her, "Do you want me to take her?" he asked, "Have a look at her?"

She nodded silently, handing the baby over as carefully. He took her, and as he did so, she turned away, gathering herself.

"Well, you certainly seem to have warmed her up well," he remarked.

She sniffed in reply.

"I take it you fed her too?"

"I gave her a little warm milk," she answered, "I didn't think she could manage much more."

"No. Very sensible," he agreed, "This grey blanket," he continued, examining a corner of it briefly before tucking back round the baby and picking her up again, "Did you have any suspicions as to where it could have come from?"

"No," she replied honestly, "I imagine you'd fine such a blanket in any number of houses in Downton. Why, I suppose you'd even find one in the servants' quarters at the Abbey if you knew where to look."

His eyes narrowed a little, but he did not pursue the point just then.

"Well, the blanket is in fairly good condition, so whoever left her here is obviously not destitute."

"No," she conceded, "But can you really say they're fit to take care of a child either? After this?"

He shook his head slowly.

"We're asking these questions too early," he told her, sighing a little, looking down at the little body he was holding, "What we need to do is to find her first of all. Would you like to hold her again?"

"Yes," Isobel whispered, quickly, honestly.

As Richard passed the bundle back to her, she got the feeling he was barely suppressing a smile. But the next moment, her eyes were on the crumpled little face again.

"She's gorgeous," she murmured sadly.

"Yes," he agreed, looking back up from his desk, then, "We need to telephone the police."

"Already?" she asked, taken aback and, she had to admit, a little disappointed.

"Yes," he replied, not unkindly but still firmly, "If we're going to find her mother."

"Oh."

"Were you hoping we'd be able to keep her?" he asked, half-joking.

She tried to laugh, but found she couldn't.

"I don't know," she admitted, "Perhaps."

"As tempting as the thought may be, we have a duty to report this, Isobel."

"Yes, I know," she replied.

The telephone receiver was in his hand, but a second later he put it back down, moving back towards her.

"Whoever left her cared enough to bring her to you," he pointed out to her, "They did what they could for her in that respect at least."

Surprised, genuinely touched, by this remark, her eyes drew quickly up from the baby's face to his. He smiled at her earnestly, and she smiled back at him.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the lovely response to the last chapter. I didn't really intend to get into writing a multi-chapter and I don't know how often I'll be able to write for this, but I wrote another one for now while I'm waiting to take my penicillin. Hope you like it. :) **

"Well," Richard remarked dryly as he shut the door of his office behind himself, returning from showing the policeman out, "That was extremely helpful."

Isobel raised her head from examining the baby's face, bouncing her ever so slightly as she sat, trying to make sure she was off to sleep properly.

"What did he say?" she asked him quietly.

"It can be pretty much summed up as the police can only take responsibility for finding the mother," he replied, "We have to take responsibility for looking after her until her mother's found."

There was a pause.

"I don't mind that," Isobel admitted finally. "I mean, it's not exactly fair. But I don't mind."

Richard gave a sigh, sitting down behind his desk.

"The constable did point out that strictly speaking, she falls to your responsibility," he informed her, "As whoever left her clearly intended to leave her with you. Which I definitely think is unfair. Obviously, I would not expect you to care for her alone," he added.

"I don't mind," she told him again, after moment.

There was another pause.

"I'll take her to my house," she stated firmly, "It makes sense. I have all the things. Well, most of them, anyway, the big ones; the crib, the basket, she already in the blankets. I kept them all," she explained, "I never could throw them away. I wondered if they might be wanted for George, but of course the Abbey has everything from when the girls were little. They're old but they're all very good quality. Reginald and I, we didn't expect to only have one," she told him, her voice a little more than a whisper, "We bought things that we thought would last."

There was a silence, he did not know what to say. She realised, though, that she had made him uncomfortable, and cleared throat.

"Whoever left her wanted me to have her," she finished, a little more strongly than before, concluding her argument.

"Yes," he agreed quietly.

"If you could spare half an hour to help me get them all out of the attic that would be a great favour," she told him, her voice becoming a little more decisive again.

"Of course," he replied, swiftly, "You're certainly taking a load off my plate by doing this. It would have been more trouble than that to arrange a rota for the younger nurses to look after her here, for them as well as for me. I'm very grateful, Isobel."

"Nonsense," she replied, a smile forming on her lips as she brushed the smattering of fair hair on the baby's forehead with her thumb, "I don't mind. It doesn't matter. I want to do this," she told him, "I cannot see a child abandoned. I cannot."

He nodded slowly, then, a moment later;

"You're very welcome to anything you need from the hospital stores too," he told her, "Powdered milk, or anything else. Anything. And I'll come round to check on her every day, at first, if that's agreeable?"

"Of course it is," she replied.

There was a brief silence.

"Do you have time now to help me with the crib?" she asked, "That way, someone here can look after her and I can put her straight to bed when I get back."

"Yes, I should have," he replied, consulting his watch, "Morning rounds can wait ten minutes under such circumstances. I'm sure Nurse Brown will look after her for us."

"That reminds me," he told her as they stepped out of the hospital together, having left the baby in the care of a rather surprised Nurse Brown, "The policeman asked if she had a name."

Isobel snorted slightly.

"He does know abandoned babies aren't like lost cats, they don't turn up with little collars on?"

Richard gave a wry smile in reply.

"I think he meant did we have a name we wanted to give her."

"I think we should leave that to her mother, don't you?" she asked.

"That's presuming she's found," he pointed out.

"Yes, I know."

There was a pause.

"You know, it is usual to name an abandoned baby after someone connected with their rescue."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I've never been the sort to name a child after myself," she told him, "It's simply against my nature."

"No, and I don't suppose she could really carry Richard off."

She sceptical look turned to a smile now, and she gave a little laugh.

"Isobel," he asked softly, an idea occurring to him, wondering whether or not he should say it even as it passed his lips, "Say no if you want to, but-..."

"What?" she asked.

"Call her what you would have called your daughter."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I did more. Hope you like. **

There was a knock at the front door. Both of them turned around, looking at the other, wondering who it could possibly be.

"I'll go," Richard told Isobel, putting down his stethoscope on the open page of the little notebook he had started to map the baby's progress, "You settle her back down."

He left the room, and Isobel resumed tucking the corners of the blankets safely away, making sure she would not be too hot or too cold. It had been a long time since she had done this- well, it hadn't really- but with these blankets, this cot-... Helen was almost asleep.

"You have a visitor," Richard announced, coming back into the room, "Lady Grantham."

Isobel was sure she did not know what to think- or do, really- she was sure she felt her stomach sinking for a second before she saw it was Cora and not Cousin Violet who was visiting her.

"Cora," she addressed her, genuinely taken aback for a moment, "What a surprise! I mean, how nice to see you, but-..."

"I know," Cora smiled graciously, "We haven't seen a lot of each other lately. And I had heard-..." she nodded delicately in the direction of the crib in the centre of living room, "Hearsay."

"Ah, yes," Isobel exchanged a glance with Richard, "We wondered how long it would be."

"Add we're very relieved that you do know," Richard cut in quickly, "We're very keen to find her mother as quickly as possible," he explained.

"Yes, I'm sure you are," Cora agreed.

Isobel said nothing.

"Can I look at her?" Cora asked.

"Yes, of course, but be careful, she's sleeping."

Isobel stood back slightly and Cora peered into the crib at Helen, fast asleep now, her little fist curled into a ball and raised to the level of her head. Her hair had grown even fairer over the last few days and a lot thicker.

"She's so beautiful," Cora murmured, "Have you given her a name?"

Isobel nodded.

"Helen."

"Oh," Cora sighed, "It suits her too. She _is _gorgeous."

"Yes," Isobel replied, "I think so. Babies tend to be."

"It does make you wonder how desperate someone would have to be to abandon one," Cora remarked sadly, straightening up away from the crib.

"Yes," Isobel replied, rather stiffly, "It does."

"Shall we continue our conversation over here?" Richard suggested quickly, "So as not to wake her up?"

They withdrew to the other part of the room, sitting down on the sofa and armchairs.

"Shall I fetch some tea?" Richard asked them politely.

"You're not my butler," Isobel told him swiftly, "I may allow you to answer the door, but I draw the line at having you make the tea. Can I get you anything, Cora?"

"No, I'm alright, thank you," Cora replied, smiling, "I'm here to assuage my curiosity, I can stay at home for tea."

Isobel smiled briefly.

"And has it been assuaged?" she asked, "Would you like to know anything else?"

"Yes, there are lots of things I'd like to know," she replied, "But I don't think they are things you two will be able to tell me, I expect you want to know them yourselves."

Richard smiled rather sadly.

"I expect you're right, m'Lady," he told her.

"Is it well publicised in the village?" Isobel asked, "I haven't been out enough to know."

"The police seem to have publicised it fairly well," Cora replied, "At any rate, people seem to know, and I think they're quite disturbed by it. I mean, things like this don't really happen in Downton, do they?"

"Not in my recollection," Richard admitted.

"I think also," a sudden smile played across Lady Grantham's face, "There is another certain contingent expressing more surprise that "Mrs Crawley and Dr. Clarkson have a baby"."

Richard flushed a little, but Isobel could only sigh.

"Would this contingent be led by Cousin Violet, by any chance?" she enquired.

Cora smiled again.

"I couldn't possibly say," she replied.

Isobel smarted a little, and only stopped when realised she was huffing outloud. She checked herself.

"Well, at any rate, everybody knows, and that's what we want. I suppose."

"Yes," Cora agreed, "Or you could find yourself with a permanent houseguest in the front room."

"No I wouldn't," Isobel replied, "She just stays down here during the day so I can watch her. She sleep in the basket next to my bed at night."

There was a pause.

"You see what I mean," Cora returned, "It can't go on forever."

Isobel said nothing in reply.

"The police will find something," Richard cut in, when neither of the women seemed to think of anything to say, "I'm sure of it."

"Yes," Cora agreed, getting up to go, "Let's hope so."

Isobel stood up too.

"Oh, and I hope you don't think me rude," Cora told her, "But would mind if I brought Sybbie to see little Helen? She wasn't supposed to find out but I don't know one of the maids must have let it slip and now she keeps talking about seeing "Auntie Isobel's baby". I think she thinks she has a new little cousin."

Isobel was unable to not smile at the thought.

"Can I bring her?"

"Yes, do. Bring George too if you can."

"Of course I will. Thank you for letting me see her."

They made their way to the door.

"I'll telephone with a time when nanny says we can visit," Cora told her, "And you must come to dinner sometime."

"Yes, I'd like that. If I can."

She turned to go back into the house, finding Richard in the hallway, watching her.

"What?" she wanted to know, catching his expression.

"Nothing," he replied, "Nothing at all."

"Not nothing," she replied stoutly, "You were thinking something."

"I'm not your butler, you can't make me tell you."

She was torn between snorting loudly and raising her eyebrow in disbelief.

"I think you like her being "Auntie Isobel's baby," he remarked.

She smiled wryly.

"Well, I think it's certainly safer than her being "our baby", as Cousin Violet obviously thinks she is."

He did not smile, or raise his eyebrows; he watched her as she walked past him, back towards the drawing room.

"I don't think you want her to go."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	4. Chapter 4

"Richard! Richard, you've got to come quickly," her voice, sharp, panicked, far from its usual tone, issued from the telephone receiver, waking him up like nothing else could. He gripped the telephone tightly in his hand.

"Isobel, just calm down for a second and tell me nice and slowly what's wrong," he told her.

"It's Helen," came the reply, "I don't think she's very well. Will you come and have a look at her?"

He had to admit, he felt his own stomach lurch unpleasantly at her words.

"Of course I will," he replied swiftly, "What's the matter with her, Isobel? What are her symptoms?"

"She's coughing," she told him, "And I think she's running a temperature. She's feverish. She's only little," her voice rose painfully, he could tell she was trying to stop it but she couldn't, "I don't want anything to happen to her, Richard."

"Alright, it's alright, I know you don't," he soothed her, "I know she's just little but it sounds like she's just got a little bit of a cough. I'll come straight away, of course I will," he added swiftly when he heard an intake of breath as if she was about to protest, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Make sure you keep her warm."

"Of course I'll keep her warm!" came the slightly shrill reply, "What sort of a nurse do you think I am?"

"Alright," he replied, choosing not to reply, "I'll be there directly."

He was at her door within five minutes of putting the receiver down; his overcoat on over his pyjamas and dressing gown; tonight of all nights Isobel would not care in the slightest. She let him in without a word.

"She's in the crib in the living room," she told him, indicating rather shakily with her hand, "I didn't want to move her."

"Alright," he told her, gently taking her hand and squeezing it for a second before he passed her, "It's alright."

He found Helen asleep, fitfully, her breathing a little uneven. He put his stethoscope in his ears and listened to her chest, and then took her temperature. All the while Isobel hovered beside him, her arms folded tightly across her chest, watching him closely. Finally, he tucked the baby's blankets back, making sure they were fastened safely.

"It seems that it's just a cold," he told her, stepping away from the crib and putting his stethoscope back in his bag, "It will pass, and she will be fine."

Inadvertently, she made a sound of great relief. Her hand moved to her chest over the white cotton of her dressing gown and rested there, almost as if she had felt a pain in her chest.

"Are you alright?" he asked her carefully.

"Yes," she replied shortly, "I just feel relieved... And stupid."

"Don't feel stupid," he told her, "You did the right thing. I'm glad you telephoned for me, and if you're ever worried again, I want you to do exactly the same."

She shook her head gently, her eyes closed.

"I was hysterical," she told him quietly, "I was so worried. I panicked. What sort of a nurse am I?"

"You panicked because you care so much," he replied gently, "Don't tell me you never panicked about something tiny and called for Reginald when Matthew was little?"

She did not say anything for a moment, and then;

"That was different. I was much younger then."

"That doesn't mean you care less now," he told her plainly.

"I know better now."

"Well, you don't," he replied flatly, "But I don't think the worse of you for it."

There was a pause.

"I just thought, what if she's ill and it's because of something I did when I found her," she told him, "I just kept thinking, what if it's something I did?"

"You did everything you possibly could have done when you found her," he told her, "Then and ever since. Do you know how many people would do what you've done for that little girl, Isobel? There can't be one in a million."

She sniffed quietly.

"What do I need to do?" she asked him, "To help her get better?"

"Look after her as you are doing," he replied, "Give her one or two drops of this medicine three times a day for a week. I'll see how she's doing after that."

He handed her a small bottle from out of his bag.

"Isobel, just keep going exactly as you are," he told her, closing his bag, "That is, if you can. This isn't wearing you out too much, is it?"

"A little," she replied cheerfully, "I don't mind."

"No, I know you don't," he replied quietly.

"Thank you for coming," she told him sincerely, "Thank you for being here so quickly. You were a great help."

"It was nothing," he replied, picking up his bag and following her through the sitting room door into the hall, "Anything for Helen, anything for you."

She smiled, but said nothing.

"I'll understand if we don't see you for the usual check-up tomorrow morning," she told him after a moment.

"Why?" he asked, "I will be there. Honestly, Isobel, do you not think I'm used to night-calls?"

She raised an eyebrow, smiling to herself a little.

"I shall see you tomorrow, then."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Richard, they're here!" she called happily, and a little wildly as she headed quickly out of the sitting room and into the hall.

"Well, go and answer the door, then," he told her, "Go on, I'm just making sure she's alright."

"Oh, very well," she told him, "You're sure she's up to visitors?"

"Quite," he told her, "Now go and let them in."

She made her way without further ado down the corridor and opened the front door.

"AUNTY BELL!"

"Hello, my darling," bending down, Isobel scooped up Sybbie Branson- little arms outstretched to greet her aunty- picking her up and hugging her tightly, "Have you come to see me?"

"Baby," Sybbie replied, "Come to see baby."

"Well," Isobel smiled over the little girl's mop of curly hair at her father, who was standing there smiling at the two of them, "That's me put in my place."

Tom grinned at her.

"This little chap came to see you though," he told her; he was holding George in one of his arms and a large bunch of flowers in the other, "He wanted to see his Granny."

"I'm supposed to be Grandmama," she reminded him.

"Yes, but it doesn't suit you," he replied with another wicked grin, "Hello, Dr. Clarkson," he added swiftly, seeing Richard coming down the corridor, narrowly escaping a rather sharp retort from Isobel.

"Good morning, Mr. Branson," Richard replied, "It's nice of you to come and see us. But you do look quite laden down. Would you like me to relieve you of that young man?"

"That would be good of you," Tom told him, handing George over to Richard.

Richard took the baby, holding him very naturally and said to him, "Come on, chap, let's get you inside and you can meet young Miss Helen."

Tom and Isobel were quiet for a few moments, watching Richard and George proceed together down the corridor. George's little hand curled in a fist around the lapel of Richard's jacket, holding on tightly.

"He's good with him," Tom remarked quietly.

"He's good with Helen too," she replied, "The man is quite a loss to paediatrics."

"That isn't what I meant," Tom pointed out softly.

"I know it's not," Isobel replied.

There was silence for another moment.

"I brought you some flowers," he told her after a moment, "I think it's a wonderful thing you're doing. I hope I'd find it in my heart to do the same."

"Thank you," she replied gently, then, after a moment, "It's good of you to say. I think Richard thinks I'm doing for selfish reasons." 

There was a moment's pause.

"What does it matter if what you're doing is good?" Tom asked, "Anyway, I don't think that's what he thinks. And if he did, he'd understand. It can't be _that_ selfish," he added after a moment, "Or you wouldn't look as tired as I did the week after little madam here was born," he gently touched his daughter's cheek and she let out a little giggle.

Rolling her eyes a little at her father, Isobel looked down at Sybbie. While they had been talking, Sybbie had quietly managed to tuck her head into the other end of Isobel's long necklace so they were both wearing it together. She smiled mischievously as Isobel realised what had happened.

"This girl is her mother through and through," she told him, kissing Sybbie's forehead quickly, "Come on, and meet my little girl, then."

"Do you have any idea where she came from?" Tom asked her as they went into the house.

"None," Isobel replied, "The police are still looking for clues. Richard will keep them at it as long ass he can, but I don't think they'll find anything now."

"You don't sound disappointed by that," Tom told her quietly.

"I don't mind telling you, Tom," she paused just outside the door to the sitting room, "I'm not."

There was a pause.

"Don't tell Richard."

"Of course not," he replied.

They exchanged a brief, understanding smile.

"Would you mind awfully putting those flowers in the kitchen and I'll take this arrant little girl in to see Helen?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

He opened the sitting room door for her before he went, and she slipped quietly inside.

"Hello," she murmured.

Richard turned.

"Hello," he replied quietly.

"How are my favourite people getting along?" she asked.

"Oh, marvellously," he replied, bouncing George just ever so slightly, keeping him happy.

George was still holding on to Richard's lapel and it made her smile.

"I didn't quite know," Richard told her in a low voice, "How to introduce them."

Isobel gave him an odd look.

"Richard, I don't think they really in a position to judge your etiquette at this stage," she told him.

"No, but, I didn't know whether to tell him that this is his Aunty Helen," he told her awkwardly. And then, a moment later, looking at her clearly, "Is she your daughter, Isobel?"

She blinked, hard. Her eyes did not leave his for a long moment.

"Baby!" Sybbie suddenly interjected, reminding them both very clearly of her presence, "Want to see baby."

"Yes, my dear, I'm so sorry," Isobel took her over to the edge of the crib, holding her so she could see.

Sybbie peered down into the crib; and then frowned a little. Isobel waited for her inevitable verdict.

"Sleepy," Sybbie pronounced.

"Yes, she sleeps a lot," Isobel explained.

"Always?"

"No, she wakes up sometimes," Isobel replied, "But we mustn't wake her. That wouldn't be very kind."

"To us or to her?" Richard asked wryly.

Isobel shot him an amused glance.

"Pretty," Sybbie pronounced.

"Pretty?" Isobel asked.

"Yes," Sybbie nodded emphatically, "Baby pretty."

Isobel smiled.

"Isobel," Richard murmured, "I think we have another sleepy baby here," he indicated to George, who seemed to have dropped off in his arms.

"Oh dear, I imagine this is quite an outing for him," she remarked, "Here, just put him down next to Helen."

"Are you sure?"

There was a pause. She frowned deeply.

"Because he'll be an earl one day and she was found on the street?" she asked.

"Good God, no!" he exclaimed, extremely taken aback, "I mean is the crib big enough?"

"Oh. Yes, I think so. I'm sorry, Richard. I just-..."

"It doesn't matter," he told her quickly, "It's alright, it doesn't matter."

"I don't know why I said that," she told him, "Of course I don't think you'd-... I just-..."

"You just defended Helen, instinctively," he told her, "You thought you heard what sounded like the hint of a threat and you defended her before you even rationalised it. It's alright," he told her again, "It's perfectly natural. She's your little girl."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	6. Chapter 6

"She's proving quite popular, isn't she?" Isobel remarked happily, looking down into Helen's cot.

Richard, sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, smiled at her, though she could not see it, her back still turned to him so that she could look at the baby.

"I'd say she is," he replied.

"Everyone's been to see her," she continued, "Even Mary."

"Everyone except Lady Edith," he reminded her.

"Yes, but Edith's in London." 

"No, she isn't," he replied, "She came back a few weeks ago now. I saw her at the house the week you found Helen."

"Goodness," Isobel remarked, turning away from the baby at last, resting her hand on her forehead for a moment, "I didn't realise how out of touch I was. Perhaps I should go and see how she is. Or maybe she could come and see me."

"Isobel," he asked carefully, "When was the last time you were out of the house?"

"You know I take Helen for a little walk every day," she told him, "It does me good as well as her."

"You know what I mean," he returned, "When was the last time you were away from Helen for more than half a minute?"

She was quiet for a moment.

"Who else is there?" she asked, rather demandingly, "Who else is going to look after her if I don't?"

"I will," he replied swiftly.

Another pause. She exhaled deeply.

"Richard," she murmured quietly, a frown knitting deeply into the centre of her brow, "I didn't mean for you to have to get involved like this. I brought her to you because I panicked, I was completely shocked, I wanted to make sure she was alright."

"I know that," he replied, "Isobel, I don't mind looking after her. Believe it or not, looking after people is what I do," he added with a wry smile.

"Yes, but playing nursemaid for me is rather different," she pointed out.

"I don't see how," he replied shortly.

She let out another deep breath, gazing out of the window for a moment, her expression distant.

"Isobel, you're tired," he told her, "You look tired." 

She looked back at him rather sharply.

"Clinical assessment, not personal comment," he covered himself quickly.

Though she still looked disgruntled, she managed to laugh at his swiftness.

"I could use a night's sleep," she admitted, "Just to get myself at a level playing-field again."

"You know the day will come when you'll have to get used to leaving her, don't you?" he asked lightly.

"Yes," she replied quietly, "I've done this before." 

It was spoken with such a softness that it took away any reply that he could have possibly made; he did not know what to say.

"I suppose," she continued, more strongly, "I'm more protective of her than I ever was with Matthew. I want to make up for the fact that someone left her, I don't want her to feel like she's not loved."

"She won't remember it, you know," he told her.

"I know," she replied, "I know I'm being absurd."

"No, that's not what I meant," he explained, "I mean, you shouldn't worry about it; it will be alright, in the end. She will be alright, thanks to you."

She smiled weakly, leaning her weight back against the table where the vase of flowers that Tom had brought her stood.

"I suppose too," her voice wavered just a touch, "I'm trying to make up for not being able to protect Matthew, in the end. I know I can't, but I'm trying."

Their eyes met, and she crumbled.

"Isobel," he stood up, quickly crossing to her side, taking her in his arms, not giving it so much as a thought, "Of course you couldn't have done anything. It was impossible! No one could have done."

"I know," she sobbed, her face against his shirt front, "I know. But I can't help thinking-..."

His hand rested in the middle of her back, her fist curled up into a little ball in the middle of his chest, holding on to his shirt front. He felt her weaken a little against him.

"Isobel, darling, you're exhausted," he murmured.

He heard her hiccough her response, unable to find the words to reply. Quickly, he planted a kiss on her forehead, hoping to revive her a little.

"Come on, you must go to bed," he told her quietly, "I'll stay here for as long as you need me to with Helen."

She looked up at him; her cheeks wet.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Thank you, Richard," she told him sincerely, her hand resting on his forearm, her eyes falling shut, "Thank you."

"It's alright, my love-..." he told her.

He was cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. He heard her give a little sigh of surprise, and gave a sound of frustration himself.

"Who on earth can that be?" he asked rather angrily.

"I'll go," she answered quickly, wiping around her eyes, "If I'm presentable?"

"Always," he told her softly, meaning it.

She through him a broad smile, disbelieving smile.

"Whoever it is, get rid of them," he told her, following her into the hall, "You need to sleep."

"I'll try," she told him, "That can sometimes prove difficult." 

Heading down the corridor, she opened the door.

"Edith."

"Hello, Cousin Isobel," she stepped inside the door as Isobel stepped back to let her in, "Oh," she caught sight of Richard at the end of the corridor, "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"Of course not, my dear, it's good to see you. How was London?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Aunt Rosamund said I should come to see you." 

"Oh? Well, I'm glad she did, but why?"

Lady Edith, from where Richard stood, was looking-... discomforted. She was looking almost frightened. Isobel seemed to notice too.

"Edith, are you alright, dear? Would you like to sit down?"

"Cousin Isobel," Edith rather blurted out, "There's something I've got to tell you."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm really very nervous about this chapter.**

Richard stood still at the end of the corridor, his eyes fixed on Isobel's face. She was smiling, but not fully; there was a seriousness behind it, a worry. He thought that he was probably sure what was going through her mind, and that it was the same horrible supposition that had flashed through his.

"Of course, my dear," she replied, with a lightness in her voice which to him sounded forced, "Come in. We can have a little talk."

_Please, God, not now,_ Richard thought. _Not when she's like this, not when she's at her lowest. Spare her this, at least._

Her eyes raised and met his briefly as she turned and led Edith inside the house. She looked quickly away from him, half-turning back towards Edith.

"We'll go through and talk in the kitchen," Isobel told her gently, "I'll make us a cup of tea. Richard, have you got the time to keep an eye on Helen for a little while?"

"Of course," he replied.

The fleeting look on Lady Edith's face as Isobel said Helen's name was not lost on him. She seemed to be following Isobel rather sheepishly, rather shyly, she seemed years younger, like a girl at school waiting to have a ticking off from the headmistress.

Isobel smiled at her kindly, holding the door to the kitchen open.

"It's not very grand, I'm afraid, but it's nice and quiet," she told her.

Edith nodded slightly, going through the door.

"Isobel," Richard murmured, just a she turned to shut the door.

Their eyes met again and this time she did not look away so hurriedly. They did not need to say anything; they both seemed to take a deep breath.

"Will you be alright?" he asked, finally.

"I think so," she replied, "I hope so."

"I'm here," he told her, quite unnecessarily, "I'm here if you need me."

She smiled.

"I know. Thank you, Richard."

…**...**

He heard the front door shut. The footsteps in the corridor were quiet. He sat by the crib, and, when there were no further sounds, counted slowly to five before getting up and quietly opening the door. Isobel was standing a little way away from the door, her head leaning slightly to one side, one arm folded around her middle, the fingers of her other hand resting contemplatively against her lips. She appeared not to notice him at first. He cleared his throat gently, and she looked towards him.

"Is it?" he asked her, "Is it what we thought?"

She seemed to smile wanly at his assumption, and he remembered that they had not actually spoken about what they thought. But a moment later her smile slipped away.

"Yes," she answered simply, letting out a deep breath, "She didn't feel up to seeing Helen today," she seemed to realise that Richard was searching her face, looking for a sign of what she thought, what she felt, "She said she liked her name. She wants to keep it."

"I should hope so," he replied, "That's the least she owes you."

"Richard-..." she began gently, trying to assuage his sharpness but not seeming to know how to finish, "I don't know-... I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting her to have been left there by someone I love."

"How on earth did she manage it?" he asked incredulously, "I mean, I take it she had the baby while she was in London, but how did she manage to get her all of the way to you?"

"Rosamund helped her, it seems," she replied, "She sent her with one of the servants."

"Dear God," he murmured quietly.

"At least she got to me, Richard," she told him, "Apparently they thought a lot about what to do. I was considered the best choice."

"Well, they were right in that, at least," he replied.

She smiled weakly.

"Thank you."

There was a brief pause.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?" he asked her.

She frowned.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know, "As far as I can see, the decision is no longer in my hands."

"You're her mother," Richard told her.

"No, I'm not," Isobel replied simply, "Perhaps I was, when we didn't know who her birth mother was, but now we do."

She spoke clearly, a touch of coldness in her voice. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, he couldn't believe she was saying this.

"Isobel, don't do this," he implored her.

"What?" she asked.

"Don't give up," he replied, "You love that little girl. You're like-..." he struggled, he did not know how to say it, "You're like a bastion, of love. Strong, unstoppable, uninhibited love. You're it's last guardian around here. If you give up, I don't know what hope there is for the rest of us."

To say she looked taken aback was quite an understatement. Her lips parted in surprise, he could tell she did not know at all what to make of what he had said.

"I'm not giving up," she said at last, her voice altered, different somehow, "But what choice do I have? To separate Edith and Helen would be like taking Matthew away from me. And I won't do that," her voice shook audibly now, "I won't make someone else go through that."

He saw now what she meant. _It's always you,_ he thought,_ it's always you that end up being hurt._

"Isobel-..." he murmured, "I'm-..."

"Don't be sorry," she told him, "There's absolutely no need."

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, "I just want to go to bed."

He nodded.

"I think that would do you the world of good," he replied, "Helen's settled."

"Good," she replied, "That is a help."

"Would you like me to call around tomorrow?" he asked.

"Have you the time?"

"Always."

She smiled, again, weakly.

"Thank you, Richard," she told him warmly, "I really don't know what I would have done without you."

He smiled in return.

"Don't think about it," he told her, "I would never have left you to do it alone."

"Would you mind terribly seeing yourself out?"

"Of course not."

She turned, about to go up the stairs. And then turned back, as if pulled back by a thought.

"Richard?" she asked, "What you said about me just now-..."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Less Helen, more Richobel. Not at all a reaction to the episode. *snort ***

He swallowed, hard.

"Yes?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, "Which part?"

"You know," she said simply, her hand resting gently on the wooden bannister. She had stepped down off the bottom stair and stood at the foot with almost an air of anticipation, as if she might move any second. But she spoke with such conviction, such soft but irrefutable conviction, that it disconcerted him even more.

He let out a sigh. There was no point in putting up any sort of pretence.

"Well," he looked her in the face, "I would have thought it was fairly unambiguous."

A ripple of surprise passed over her face at his matching her frankness but she quickly recovered herself. There was a moment's silence.

"Well," she replied after a long moment, her voice softer even than before, "Thank you."

Another silence.

"Richard," she asked again, "What _did_ you mean? You say it's obvious," she cut him off quickly before he could protest, "But I need you to say it. Please. Don't leave me pondering your ideas of ambiguity."

A smile passed briefly over his lips, which he swallowed a moment later, realising that he was going to have to find the words to tell her. A lump seemed to be rising in his throat, and he swallowed again, hoping his voice would work.

"I love the way you love. God knows, I've watched you do it enough over the years. I love you."

Her mouth parted in surprise.

"Richard-..."

"I don't ask for anything in return," he told her quickly, "I'm sorry, I wouldn't have told you, but you asked! I'm not asking you for anything, Isobel."

"No, Richard, listen," she stepped forwards away from the stairs, standing before him, rather shyly taking hold of his hands, "Please don't apologise, that was a wonderful thing for you to say. It's me who should apologise, I made you say it. And don't-... Don't ask for nothing. I don't want to give you nothing, when you've given me so much."

She felt silent. His fingers wrapped gently into hers, and she accepted him.

"Do you know what you do want?" he asked.

She shook her head sadly.

"No," she murmured, "Not at the moment." 

"It's alright," he whispered to her, "You don't have to know now."

"I don't want to lose Helen, and I don't want to lose you," she told him, her voice very quiet, "At the moment I seem remarkably lightly to lose both."

"Shush, no, Isobel, you won't lose me," he told her, "I can't make you any promises about Helen, but I can promise that you won't lose me." 

She smiled at him; tears had formed in her eyes. Her eyelids fell shut and she seemed to take in a deep breath.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, "I can hardly trust myself at the moment."

"You need to sleep," he replied, "Honestly, Isobel, you'll feel better."

"Stay?"

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"Stay. I'm exhausted. I don't want to lose you," she repeated.

"In the guest room?" he asked.

"Yes, if you like."

He cleared his throat slightly.

"I think that would be for the best," he judged.

"Just as long as you stay," she told him.

He sighed. It would have been wrong of him to say no, she was exhausted, she needed him here; for Helen alone, before any consideration of herself.

They were still holding hands. Her fingers squeezed a little against his.

"Thank you, Richard. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he implored her, "Don't you realise now, I'm giving all of this freely?"

"Richard-..." she murmured.

She kissed him. Her hand left his and rested on his cheek, her thumb stroking gently by his ear. She did no more than brush her lips gently against his at first. Hesitantly, he responded, only going as far as she guided him, kissing her as gently as he could, thinking only that this was a mistake to her later he could only use it now as a way to show how he loved her. He felt her arms wrap around his neck, and his hands rested on her waist. She parted her lips under his, inviting him to explore more deeply. He groaned quietly, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

They broke apart a little breathlessly. Her eyes were closed, a look of concentration on her face. He watched as a few seconds later her eyelids fluttered open, and she murmured, under her breath, still breathlessly, almost moaning it;

"Darling."

He could not help it, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he almost lifted her off her feet, burying his face in the exposed skin of her neck, and simply holding her. She exhaled sharply in surprise, but then, a few moments later, he felt her arms settle snuggly over his back, holding him in return.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	9. Chapter 9

They were waiting for the knock on the door long before it came. That was not to say exactly that they were ready for it when it did come. But they were certainly waiting; tensely, neither saying a word.

Their eyes met for a moment at the sound from the hall. He wanted to ask her without words whether this was alright, whether she was ready. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod, and went to answer the door.

She was pleased to see that Rosamund, standing a little way back, had come with Edith.

"Hello," she smiled at them quietly, stepping back to let them inside.

They came in rather timidly, Edith seeming to wait for Rosamund, but Rosamund not feeling it would be right for her to advance. Isobel took their coats, but when she had hung them up and neither of them had made any further progress down the hallway she cleared her throat quietly, stepping forwards a little.

"She's in her cot in the sitting room," she told them both, "She's awake but she's fairly quiet." 

Edith nodded.

"Is Dr. Clarkson here?" she asked.

"Yes," Isobel replied, "But he would be happy to leave us for a while if that is what you want."

"I think it's good that the doctor's here," Rosamund told her firmly, "You never know what you might want to ask."

Edith said nothing in reply, but turned to Isobel.

"Can I see her, please?"

"Yes, of course, my dear," Isobel told her, "She's just in here."

The three of them filed into the sitting room. Richard stood, his hands behind his back, looking out of the window. He nodded both to Edith and to Rosamund and retreated a little further towards the window.

Apprehension all over her face, Edith approached the crib and peered inside. Watching her face in profile, Isobel watched as her lips, clenched shut, softened, relaxed, almost. She seemed to breathe very evenly for a few moments, trying to steady herself. To try and catch the look in her eyes, Isobel almost felt would be an intrusion, but in a way she did not need to, she could imagine it perfectly. Leaning over Edith's shoulder a little, Rosamund regarded Helen with the tenderest expression Isobel had ever seen her wear.

"She's turned out to be quite lovely," she remarked, then, turning to Isobel, "You have been taking awfully good care of her."

"I just did what was needed," Isobel replied quietly.

"You didn't always know she was mine," Edith remarked, her voice strained somewhat, not taking her eyes off Helen.

"No," Isobel confirmed, "I would have done the same for anyone's child."

There was a brief silence.

"Can I hold her?" Edith asked.

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to show you how?"

Carefully cradling Helen's fair head, Isobel lifted her out of the crib. Helen let out a little gurgling sound at being disturbed, but Isobel patted her gently on the back, soothing her gently.

"It's alright, my love, some one's here to see you. Your mother."

Gently handing Helen over to Edith, concentrating on keeping the baby safe, she did not catch the look on Edith's face until a moment later when Edith was holding her. Their eyes met, and Edith looked abruptly away, back down at Helen.

"I don't claim any right, you know, Edith," she told her gently, "You _are _her mother and I won't stand in the way of that."

"I think you probably have a more than reasonable claim to "Favourite Aunt"," Rosamund admitted graciously.

Isobel smiled gently.

"Imagine if she had me as a mother," she told them realistically, "An old woman like me. The other girls would poke fun at her at school."

Edith sniffed quietly.

"You would have sent her to school?" she asked.

"Yes, of course," Isobel replied abruptly, before realising, "I'm sorry, I forgot neither of you went."

"I think I may trust to your wisdom on this one," Edith told her, examining her daughter's face, "Tom intends that Sybbie should go to school, and I don't see why Helen shouldn't either."

There was a pause.

"Have you talked to Robert and Cora?" Isobel asked the pair of them.

"There are conversations to be had," Rosamund replied, unmistakeably wary, "I was wondering if it would be alright with you if Helen stayed here until then?"

"Yes, of course," Isobel replied.

She tried not to catch Richard's eye. She knew he was watching her. Implicit in the request that Helen stay a little longer was that one day she would leave.

Rosamund smiled a little.

"We owe you a great deal," she told Isobel, "Of course, I will pay for everything that-..."

"No you won't," Isobel told her, "There was no great expense anyway. I had a lot of the things in the attic still, and Richard was very good in giving me supplies from the hospital. Helen gave me purpose, and that was more than enough."

There was a silence.

"Would you like me to put her back to bed?" Isobel asked.

Edith nodded quietly.

"You may come to see her any time you like," Isobel told her, "You're always welcome."

She smiled as she said it, and Richard thought she did well to. She did remarkably well. She was calm, quiet and composed throughout, and above all sensitive to Edith. The effect of years of nursing certainly told in her.

It was not until they had said goodbye to Rosamund and Edith, and the door was shut behind them that she allowed him to gently take her hand, and, pressing the other to her mouth, crumbled, and sobbed; "She's really going to go."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Right, ok, I'm so sorry about the crazy stupid delay, but university has been keeping me very busy. This takes a little leap forwards to after Helen has been taken away (by Edith), I couldn't bringmyself to write her actually going. Also, this is an M. **

"Richard. Richard, please."

He kissed her again, his hands still on her waist. Her fingers covered his, pulling at them, trying to make them move away from her middle.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

He looked at her carefully as she took a shuddering breath. Her skin was flushed, her eyes even darker than their usual deep brown.

"Please. I need this."

He knew she was telling the truth, it was written all over her face, and he thought perhaps he understood; she needed to be told, to be shown, that this would not be taken from her as well. After all, everything else had been, bit by bit. Reginald, Matthew, Helen. Love was written on Isobel's heart like a catalogue of loss. It was a wonder she still kept at it. It seemed she could not help herself. He kissed her. He wanted to show her that it didn't have to be like that any more.

"Alright," he told her, "It's alright, Isobel. Come on," he tugged gently at her hand, leading her towards the stairs, "If you're sure."

She tugged at his hand, overtook him, turned to him at the top of the stairs, her kiss was full of need.

"Shall we go to your room or my room?" he asked against her lips.

He felt her smile a little, and realised what he'd said.

"Do you think of it as your room?" she asked him coyly.

"I suppose I must," he replied, a little bashfully.

"I wish you'd think of my room as your room."

"Isobel-..."

"Come on," she told him, pulling him towards her door.

Of course, he had been in her room many times over the past few weeks, putting Helen to bed in the little basket at the foot of Isobel's bed. It still stood there, sheets pristine white, empty. He saw Isobel deliberately avert her eyes. He lead her to the bed, held her hand as she sat down and sat down beside her.

Her hands rested on his chest, slipping under his jacket, pushing it off as her lips latched back on to his. Still, she kissed hard, fiercely, pulling on the collar of his shirt, pulling his closer to her. Her lips were open, he felt her teeth against his lower lip, her fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt. When he pulled away for a second, her lips refused to leave his face, tracing the corner of his jaw, latching onto his ear.

"Dear God, woman, slow down," he told her.

But as he said it, he saw the way her dress pooled between her legs, fallen open on the bed. Her body was begging for him. He touched her face, making her look at him. Her eyes were wide, and still so dark.

"Alright," he whispered, "Alright, my darling, I'm sorry. Lie down. Just lie down."

She complied immediately, moving deftly back onto the bed, stretching out. Leaning his body over hers, he embraced her. Through her dress their chests touched. She seemed placated, a little, she kissed him more softly now, her hands roaming up and down his back. His hand traced gently up over her breast, drawing a soft mewling noise from her lips. He groaned quietly, repeated his action more firmly. She moaned loudly. He had never known someone else's pleasure to have such a profound effect on him.

He kissed her gently.

"Isobel," he murmured quietly, "Tell me what you want. I want to give you everything you want."

She let out something between a sigh and a sob. He looked down at her in concern. Her eyes were closed, but they opened a second later. Their eyes met, and he felt her body move under his as she took a deep levelling breath.

"Undress me," she told him, "Make love to me. Take me. I want-..." her voice shook a little, "I want to feel you, Richard."

His hand brushed her face, and she leant into his palm, seeking out his touch.

"Will you let me make you come first?" he asked, "Before we-..."

"If you want," she replied, "It doesn't matter."

"It does, Isobel," he replied, "It matters so much. Don't say it doesn't."

"Please, Richard."

He allowed her to draw his lips back down to hers.

"I love you, Isobel," he murmured, kissing his way down her jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone.

"I know," she replied, "I love you too."

Gently, one by one, he pulled the layers of clothing away from her body, kissing her flesh as it became exposed, allowing her to do the same to him, her hands more hurried, her mouth hot and open against his skin.

Pushing the hem of her thin white shift upwards around her hips he slipped his hand inside her underwear, touching her folds. She gasped softly. The frantic pulse of her body seemed to slow for a moment. Their eyes met. And then her hips rolled up to meet his hand, her hand grasped the back of his neck, pulling him down on top of her so their chests were pressed flush together. As best he could, he slipped his other hand between their bodies, touching her breast as his finger moved at her centre.

"Richard!" she gasped, her lips resting on his shoulder as she rocked against him, rutting herself against his fingers.

"Yes, Isobel," he murmured, "That's it."

"I can't, Richard," she moaned.

"Yes, you can. Come for me, Isobel."

Carefully, he pushed a finger inside her, still kneading her with his thumb. She moaned, arched her back a little towards him. He added another finger, increasing his pace.

"Oh, God, Richard!"

"Yes," he murmured, "That's it. That's it, my darling."

"Richard, I can't," she insisted, "I need you inside me. Please."

"But-..." 

"It doesn't matter. Richard, I'm begging you."

"Alright," he told her, "Alright, darling."

Pulling her underwear off, her still in her shift, bunched up around her waist, he settled himself over her. He pushed inside her as gently as he could, feeling her legs settle immediately around his waist, holding him in. He sunk inside as deep as he would go. She moaned loudly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, alarmed.

"Yes," she gasped, "Oh, yes. Just move, Richard."

He thrust inside her.

"Oh, yes, harder."

Her hands were clinging to his back, her nails digging in a little but that was the furthest thing from him mind. She moaned, she cried out, she cursed a little as he moved inside her, begging him to go faster. Her hands fell back onto the bed, she writhed under him. His fingers threaded with hers once more, squeezing tightly. He kissed her brow feverishly, he kissed her lips until kissing was too much and all he could do was move. She came explosively, rocking beneath him, clinging on to him, bringing him with her. He spilled himself inside her and she gave a cry of relief as their bodies collapsed together. Her shift was drenched with sweat and the essence of their lovemaking. Settling down beside her, he pulled it off her, tearing it a little, throwing it on the floor and kissing her breasts tenderly as his breathing returned to normal. She gave a quiet moan, pulling him firmly towards her. He wrapped him arms around her, her head resting against his chest.

"That was wonderful," she whispered, "Thank you."

"Isobel," he murmured, "I love you so much." 

"I love you too," she replied, "Always."

**Please review if you have the time.**


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